


Healer's Hands

by Katalyna_Rose



Series: Vhenan and Associated Stories (Lyna Lavellan) [30]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 04:05:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11096526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katalyna_Rose/pseuds/Katalyna_Rose
Summary: The blood of a world stains his hands.





	Healer's Hands

The healer has the bloodiest hands.

They were words Solas had heard often, said often, lived up to far too often. He meant to heal, to help his people, yet the blood of an entire world stained his hands. It was ground into his palms, the ridges of his fingerprints, dried under his nails and around his cuticles. When the night was still, silent, and the Fade eluded him, he could feel it dripping from his fingertips.

He tried to wash it away, would spend hours scrubbing at his hands until they were red and raw and burning, but nothing he did could clean the blood off his hands. He was stained with it, his soul marred from it, and he could not escape it.

Except with her.

An elf, Dalish but not, she saw the blood on his hands and she did not shy away. He tried for so long not to touch her, certain that the stains on his hands would somehow sully her beauty. Yet she took his hands in hers with a gentle touch and kissed his bruised knuckles.

And suddenly the blood vanished, leaving behind clear skin that she rubbed her cheek against as she smiled at him. In her company, as long as she was touching him, he was cleansed of the blood and agony and guilt. In her company, he could be free.

But only when she was touching him.

And the longer he spent clean, the more the guilt piled on. He did not deserve the peace she brought him. He had a duty and the blood that stained his soul reminded him of it. Yet he could not bring himself to reject the cleansing warmth of her touch. He desired her, body and soul, and the respite she provided him was only the tiniest part of why he loved her.

But he could not stay.

She did not know the truth and he found that he could not tell her, could not destroy her innocence and her faith. He wanted her, loved her, but she deserved better than the healer with the blood of a world on his hands. She could not cleanse him completely, it seemed. He forced himself to relinquish her.

The healer has the bloodiest hands, and to heal what he hurt the blood of another world would stain him. It would not stain her.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been writing too much angst lately. Most of it starts on tumblr, in response to things that weren't meant to be writing prompts but prompted me to write. -shrug-


End file.
